Wandering
by Catching Fireflies
Summary: After their stay in Rivendell, Thorin's company stumbles across a Man -still a child- held captive by the goblins. Just when they decide to leave him to die, they recognize him as the boy they came across in Rivendell, who was called Estel. And so begins the tale of how Thorin's company unwillingly took in another member, one who would one day determine the fate of Middle-earth.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

**Not only is this my first crossover, it's also my first story for The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, so this is still fairly new to me... but enough of that.**

**This will be bookverse. Though, naturally, this story does not follow canon, I don't plan on changing things drastically.**

**This is told in third person, and will change point of view, but I'm sure it'll be easy to figure out whose point of view it's in.**

**According to the appendixes in Return of the King, Aragorn would have been ten years old and living in Rivendell at the time of Thorin's quest. It is also stated that he learns of his true heritage later on, so he would still be called Estel at this point.**

**Also, thanks to shady stays gold for looking this over.**

* * *

**Prologue **

* * *

A burst of merry singing started up again from the Elves as they danced by the water. They seemed to be spinning through the dim silver moonlight, as if they were swords swung in a blur of movement. A soft rhythm of water pulsed behind the singing, and Thorin Oakenshield shut his eyes for a moment, taking in the sounds. Rivendell was one of those lucky places that always seemed to have a sense of comfort. Even the infernal singing of the Elves could be tolerated after a while: it was a small price to pay for their days of safety.

Even now, looking upon the faces of his Company, he knew that this protection would only last for a few more hours. The reading of the moon-letters only made him more anxious to reach the Lonely Mountain. It seemed like a fair while off, but Durin's Day was approaching with every hour that passed, and it was their only hope to delve into the mountain. Of course, that time would also prove the worth of their burglar, but he did not desire to dwell on _that_ fact. Especially not now, while even Gandalf had a sort of smile on his lips as he watched the Elves sing of mid-summer. The Company was at peace, and they would all wish for something like this later on.

As Thorin's eyes gave a cursory glance over the area and the people in it -the Elves, his fellow Dwarves, Gandalf, Bilbo, Elrond- he spotted something out of the ordinary. Though no one had been there the last time he'd looked -which had been just minutes ago-, a young boy was at Elrond's side, and a woman. Thorin blinked, his brow creasing, and rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he needed a night of rest, and stress was catching up on him. For when he looked closer, he beheld them in the moonlight clearly. But they appeared to be of the race of Men, which could not be. After all, this was Rivendell, a place of the Elves.

He listened closer, and made out their words. First he heard the woman's voice. "Now, now, Estel, you should not disturb Lord Elrond," she said in a gentle but commanding tone. As she leaned down to ruffle the boy's dark hair, Thorin noted that she was fair of face, and neither young nor very old.

The boy -Estel? was that what the woman had called him?- paid no heed to her words, and gazed up at Elrond. "Father?" he asked. Judging by his voice and stature, he had several years to go before he reached manhood. But that was not what befuddled Thorin. _Father,_ he'd called Elrond. It made no sense whatsoever. Elrond was Halfelven, of course, but this boy was a Man! It was baffling. Perhaps Thorin really did need a good night of sleep before they set out once again; he could not afford such confusion when in the Wild.

"Yes, my son?" answered Elrond, his lips curved in a rare smile that indeed seemed paternal. Thorin, distracted by his relief that they were speaking the Common Tongue and not Elvish, realized a few moments later the implications of what Elrond had said. _My son. _But none of this could be possible. "What is it?" To the woman, he added, "I do not mind, my lady, for I am not doing anything of importance, as you can see."

_'My lady', he said,_ Thorin mulled over in his mind. Most likely it was a mere title of recognition while still subtly concealing the woman's real name, for although he knew little of the Elves, he had heard that Elrond's wife had sailed to Valinor many years ago, after some type of attack with orcs. Besides that, the unknown woman was obviously of the Edain.

As the woman -could she be Estel's mother?- nodded, the boy spoke. "Who are the Dwarves that came here, Father?" he asked, in a voice that was accented like that of one who had been speaking the languages of the Elves for a long while. "And why are they here in Imladris?" Evidently, Estel did not see Thorin's stare, as he took no precaution of lowering his voice.

Elrond, however, raised his head and met Thorin's eyes for a moment. Thorin, filled with a sort of gruff humiliation, was tempted to avert his gaze, but he refused to lower his head, as turning away in submission would surely not be the action of a future Dwarf-king. Instead, he gave his best challenging expression, trying to ensure that Elrond did not speak of their quest to this boy.

For a moment, Elrond seemed to give a barely noticeable nod to Thorin. Then he looked back at Estel. "It is not my business to tell you of the Dwarves and their purpose here, Estel," he said, but his voice was kindly. "It is late, and you should be sleeping."

"I wanted to hear the singing," Estel said, distracted from the thought of Thorin and Company for the moment. He gazed out at the joyful Elves, who had started another song that sounded ridiculously, foolishly happy to Thorin's ears. The boy smiled, eyes glinting like an animal's in the moonlight.

"Estel, the hour is late," the woman said, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "What Elrond told you is true: you need to rest. I myself grow tired." She bent down to plant a light kiss on Estel's forehead, after brushing aside his hair. "Goodnight," she whispered, and then she grew so quiet that Thorin could not distinguish her words- they seemed to be an Elven language, anyway. Then she left the small gathering, her hair blowing in the light breeze.

Thorin turned his attention back to the revelry of the Elves, and to his Company. Gandalf was speaking in a low voice to a sleepy-looking Bilbo, most likely of their plans for the days to follow. The hobbit gave his agreement once or twice, and the lightest trace of a smile flickered across Thorin's face when Gandalf shook Bilbo's shoulder gently with a laugh, seeing that their burglar was nodding off.

_Let him rest,_ Thorin thought to himself, staring at the shimmer of the moonlight on the water. _We have left barely any land behind, and we have a long while to go, most likely with no places as safe as Rivendell. _

His thoughts were abruptly jostled out of place as someone tapped him on the shoulder. He was about to turn and tell Gandalf to give him a moment's peace, but instead of finding himself face-to-face with the wizard, he came to be staring at the boy -Estel- he'd seen earlier. Thorin's surprised gaze was met with a pair of wide eyes -gray or blue, he couldn't tell in the darkness. Estel had slightly long, dark-brown hair, and his face... that was what confused Thorin the most. Being of the Dwarves, he didn't especially care for the affairs of Men, but most knew at least a shred of the tales of Numenor- and the boy before him had the same proud stance as the kings of Men from days long past. He would have to ask Gandalf about this before they set off in the morning.

Regaining his grip on the present, Thorin inclined his head to the boy. "Thorin Oakenshield, at your service," he said, a little gruffly, for although he was curious of the presence of Men in Rivendell, he was unsure of what to say to this boy. Thorin was not bad with words -indeed, he already knew what to say on the inevitable day when he would proclaim himself as King under the Mountain- but he always seemed to talk to younger folk rudely without meaning to. "What are you called?" he asked, not desiring the boy to realize he had been eavesdropping.

"My name is Estel," the child said. _Estel._ The name sounded like something from the Elven languages. "At your service also." For a child, he had a serious face, but a tentative smile spread across it. "Mithrandir -he says that you call him Gandalf- told me some of the reason for your journey." The solemn speak matched the somber-looking young face with its gray eyes. At the moment, however, a sort of spark lit up in their depths.

Thorin, after recoiling inside at the hideous name which the Elves called Gandalf, frowned. "Gandalf told you of our quest?" he asked. Though he placed full trust in Gandalf, Thorin did not desire for a slip of the tongue to cost them their journey. "Gandalf trusted you?" He looked around for Gandalf, but he was nowhere to be seen.

The words must have come out a bit harsher than intended. Estel took a cautious step back, looking nervous. Thorin sighed. "Pardon me," he said. "I am sorry for sounding harsh. I meant to say... you seem young to gain his trust."

"But I am getting older," Estel insisted. "I am ten years old. And I would not break a promise, to Mithrandir especially, and I would not share your secrets with enemies- though I know of no enemies here." He paused, glancing around, most likely to see if his mother was nearby to find him awake this late at night. "But Mithrandir did not tell me where you are going. He only said 'the Lonely Mountain', and I do not know where that is, exactly."

Thorin attempted to hide the exasperation he felt towards this questioning child; he'd had much practice in this technique when Fili and Kili were young. How could he tell this boy, who seemed so youthful and innocent and even more clueless than Bilbo, of his people? Of the Lonely Mountain, of the dragon that dwelt there with his hoard of treasure? Choosing to leave out the details, he simply said, "Over the Misty Mountains, and through Mirkwood to the Lake-town."

Estel nodded. "That is a long way," he said, and Thorin nodded. He didn't need a reminder that the journey would be long and hard. "Well, it was good to meet you, Lord Thorin. I hope that you have a safe journey and reclaim the mountain." Thorin, who had almost chuckled at being addressed as 'Lord', was struck by the child's perceptiveness. But before he could bid Estel goodbye, the boy turned and left.

* * *

Nearby, barely out of earshot from the Company and the Elves, Gandalf conversed with Lord Elrond, leaning on his staff with a grave face. For in his last visit to Imladris, he had not recalled the sight of this strange young boy and his mother; at least, not out in the open. It had been a bit of a surprise, to see the boy walk up to him and inquire about their quest.

"My lord Elrond," Gandalf said, brow furrowed, "Estel seemed rather curious of our journey to the Lonely Mountain." He looked over Elrond's shoulder, squinting at the shape of the boy who was still watching the dancing of the Elves with an expression of rapturous awe on his youthful face.

Elrond sighed, turning to watch his adopted son. "The day will come soon enough when he reaches manhood," he said, his face expressionless. "Soon enough, I must speak to him of his true heritage." Here, his voice lowered, and Gandalf strained to listen to his whisper through the laughing and singing. "Rivendell is safe for Isildur's heir for the moment," he continued gravely. "There will be an inevitable day when Aragorn son of Arathorn will have to follow in the footsteps of his ancestors and play a vital role in freeing Middle-earth from the Shadow. You know this time will have to come one day, Mithrandir." There was conviction in his tone, a sense of urgency.

Gandalf was silent. Yes, this day would come to pass, but it still seemed far off. "We should not speak of such things," he said at last. "That day is far off. But Estel is growing older with every day that passes, and he appears to wonder about the world outside of Rivendell." A wry smile replaced the serious expression on Gandalf's face as he recalled the boy's questions about their journey. Why they were going, why they needed a hobbit to go with them, what they were looking for in the Lonely Mountain...

"Long has Rivendell been a protected place for Estel and his mother, the Lady Gilraen," Elrond said. "But the boy was too young to remember the world outside." A piercing gaze settled on Gandalf. Elrond's eyes were stern. "Do not tempt him with word of the land that lies beyond the Last Homely House, Mithrandir. For Estel has been a son to me, and I have been a father to him."

Gandalf nodded. "I will not ask more of you, Lord Elrond," he said respectfully. "We leave when the day dawns tomorrow."

He turned and went to rejoin the Company. He spotted several of the Dwarves lying on the ground, having drifted off to sleep, and some others appeared drowsy. Thorin was staring out at the dancing Elves as if in a dream, and Bilbo was fast asleep nearby. A few paces away stood Estel, his small figure silhouetted against the moonlight. To knowing eyes, it was not difficult to see that the blood of Numenor ran in his veins. Gandalf saw it in the dark hair and gray eyes.

He thought of the words of Elrond: that Estel would free Middle-earth from the Shadow. This boy, clueless of his ancestry, could in a time of need reclaim the empty throne of Gondor. But for now, there were other matters to think of, Thorin's quest being particularly important. He sat beside Bilbo, setting his staff across his lap. Morning would swiftly come, and the dwarves would need his aid to find a way over the Misty Mountains.

* * *

After Estel had spoken with Thorin Oakenshield, he crept into his room inside the Last Homely House. He was elated that Mithrandir had trusted him, and that he had spoken with the leader of the Company. "Over the Misty Mountains, through Mirkwood, to the Lake-town," he said to himself quietly, repeating Thorin's vague words. They were rather unclear directions, but he was sure that he could manage.

Estel no longer remembered a place before Rivendell. He knew that there _was_ one, of course, but he didn't have a shred of the past in his mind. Rivendell was sheltered and safe, as his father reminded him often, but as he had learned, there was much out in the world. There were mountains, marshes, forests, rivers, kingdoms, and much more, and Estel was enthralled by Mithrandir's description of the Lonely Mountain, with its treasure within guarded by the dragon Smaug. _If I could set out for the Misty Mountains, _he thought to himself, _I could go with Thorin's Company and go to the Lonely Mountain!_

Unlike it seemed, it was not a mere curiosity that Estel felt. It was more of the desire to wander, to roam the land and see the world before his eyes, instead of being raised and protected in Rivendell. Maybe the lust to roam was something in his blood, he supposed. Something deep down, seeing as his mother was, for the most part, content in Rivendell.

Estel went throughout the House to several of the rooms. In a pile of unclean garments that were to be washed soon, Estel found what he was looking for: a pack to carry supplies in. It was caked with dirt -possibly one that belonged to a Dwarf- but he brushed it off onto the floor without a care. He slung it over his shoulders, hitching it up every few moments to keep the straps from slipping. Snatching a dark-colored cloak that looked to be designed for traveling, he left the room.

When he came to his father's room, he found it to be empty; he assumed that Elrond was still down by the water with the Company. Estel knew this room well: he remembered the nightmares of his younger years, when he would run either to his mother's room or to this one. On one of these occasions -among the first- he had discovered that his father kept at least one blade hidden in his room, possibly in case of an attack on Rivendell. Estel had been trained a little with a sword (or rather, a long knife, since he was still small) by his father's other sons, and he had heard tales of terrible beasts out in the Wild, so he thought to bring a blade along with him. After a bit of rummaging, he discovered a knife behind the pillows on the bed. Admiring the sleek silver blade for a moment, he swung it in the air at invisible foes before stowing it in his pack.

Once he had dressed in his most travel-practical clothes and filled his pack with spare garments, food, and water, the first hints of sunrise were appearing in the East. After running outside as fast as his legs could carry him, Estel raced over the bridge, not caring about the river flowing beneath. Up the path his feet flew, stumbling once or twice, until he came to an open clearing, surrounded by tall trees. He stared up at the daunting course of switchbacks that led out of the valley for a moment, then headed on.

Soon, Estel could feel the air getting a slight chill. He shivered in the morning air, wrapping the cloak tightly around him as he continued out of the valley. The path was steep, and the sharp, clean scent of pine begin to creep into his nose. With a few second thoughts about this journey invading his mind, he walked on, no longer running.

Finally, after several falls and slips, Estel found himself looking down on his beloved home. Rivendell was but a light down in the valley below, and his stomach swooped at the immense height he seemed to have. Then he looked up, and a rush seemed to fill his very blood. There stood the Misty Mountains, tall and proud, crowned with caps of snow. To him, they seemed to be immeasurably large, towering over Rivendell like a row of giants standing by a tiny hole in the soil. _The Misty Mountains._ He wanted to climb every inch- would he be able to spot the Lonely Mountain from a high peak? Would he see the vast, dark expanse of Mirkwood? It seemed amazing, to be out in the open world.

After the long while it took to skirt around the valley of Rivendell, he found the mountains to still be a fair distance away. Taking a deep breath, he ran as far as he could towards them before he had to stop for a drink of his water. Taking a few precious sips and wiping his lips on the edge of his cloak, he went on until he reached the foot of the Misty Mountains.

But where was a path? His eyes flicked across the expanse of land, over the mountains, searching for a way up. He saw nothing for a while, so he paced near the Mountains in frustration for a while. As the sun was beginning to set, he felt a growing sense of despair. "There must be a way up," he said aloud, speaking to himself, and then his eyes found a small trail, winding up the mountain, barely wide enough for two people to stand side by side.

Seeing no better option, Estel started up the path. For a while, he walked in silence, and the stars began to appear in the dark sky. He looked ahead, trying to find a place to sleep in peace- and saw a movement before his eyes. Some type of large, hideous creature leaped out at him with a growl, and out of instinct, he gave a cry of terror and fumbled for his blade. Lashing out blindly and wildly, missing the creature, he scrambled back down in horror. Two more of the creatures emerged from the deepening shadows, and Estel suddenly realized: _goblins._ His father had told him of the things lurking in the Misty Mountains on the unsafe paths, and he had forgotten.

The goblins were laughing in a chorus of disgusting guffaws that raised the hairs on the back of Estel's neck. His eyes widened, desperately looking for a sort of place where he could hide or evade the goblins, but there was none. Then he found himself with the biggest of the three goblins holding a rusty blade at his throat, still laughing crudely.

Estel did the only thing he could imagine doing at the moment: he screamed. A terror that he had never known was coming over him as he realized just how dangerous the world outside Rivendell was. "Help!" he cried into the night, though none was near enough to hear, save perhaps more goblins. "Help! Help!"

A rough hand clamped over Estel's mouth. "Shut your mouth!" the goblin barked. "No one will come to help you." The blade pressed harder into Estel's throat, and a trickle of blood slid down his neck and stained his cloak. He winced in pain, his lips moving against the hideous goblin-skin, causing the goblin that held his hand over his mouth to burst into mocking laughter.

Another goblin snatched Estel's knife away before he could comprehend what was happening. A screeching noise started up, and a howl of abhorrence. "Elves!" the goblin moaned, dropping the knife to the ground. The third goblin held Estel's wrists behind his back tightly, giving him no hope of retrieving his only weapon. "An Elven-knife!"

There were disdainful mutters of "Filth!" and "Scum!" among the goblins, and Estel felt his heart sink. He knew well, of course, that Elves were neither filth nor scum, but remained silent, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

"What do we do with the Elf-friend?" growled the goblin that held his mouth shut. Estel felt rope scratching at his wrists, and struggled in a panic to free himself, but his hands were tied securely in front of him. The goblin continued in his rasping voice. "Do we kill him? Do we eat him alive? Do we let the wolves have him? Or do we knock 'im on the head and eat him raw?" The goblin's saliva dripped onto Estel's shoulder, and he flinched. "Tender, young meat is the best, they say!"

The other goblin, the one who had taken the knife, gave the goblin a blow to the head that made Estel flinch. "Fool!" he grumbled. "This one's for the Great Goblin! We'll torture the nasty Elf-friend 'till he tells the Great Goblin why he's out all alone in the mountains! _Then_ we eat him raw!" He gestured to the third goblin, who, no longer having the task of restraining Estel, was standing nearby with a stupid stare on his face. "You! Cover his eyes! Or just give him a hit on the head so hard he goes limp!"

The last words in particular frightened Estel like he had never felt before now. Wishing a thousand times over that he had never set out, he screamed as loud as his lungs would allow, gulping in air and stumbling off down the path. Suddenly, he found himself in a goblin's grip. A guttural voice in the background screamed, "Hit 'im on the head! Smack the scum's brains out!"

As Estel kicked wildly, panicking and screaming for his mother, he heard the words, "Well, this lad looks like a feisty one!", before he felt his head crack against hard stone.


	2. Warriors of Old

**Author's Note:**

**Thank you to all who reviewed/favorited/followed.**

**In this chapter, I have taken a few lines of dialogue directly from the book, which I claim no ownership of.**

* * *

**Warriors of Old**

* * *

Bilbo Baggins awoke to a sense of peace that was swiftly replaced by dread as his eyes opened. Sunlight flooded through the windows- the day had proved to dawn clear, which was a stroke of luck. Thorin Oakenshield stood over his bed, appearing slightly bleary-eyed himself. "Up," he urged, prodding Bilbo's shoulder. He gave an incomprehensible grunt and rolled over, shutting his eyes again. It seemed far too early to set out again, and Rivendell seemed twice as grand, now that he was to leave.

He heard Thorin's footsteps coming closer. A harder shake was administered this time. "Up, Bilbo Baggins!" Thorin said, a little firmer this time. "We must set out soon for the Misty Mountains. Gandalf will lead us, with his knowledge and the advice of Elrond."

In acceptance of their journey, Bilbo sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Good morning to you, Thorin!" he said. He became aware of a hungering sensation that had become familiar to him, since the Dwarves ate considerably less than Bilbo. "Might I ask: are we staying for a quick bite to eat before we leave? I am rather hungry."

Thorin chuckled dryly. "You will have to make do with a little less, then," he said. He stuck out a broad hand with calloused fingers and pulled Bilbo from the bed. "Now, you need to dress properly, and meet the rest of the Company down by-" He turned around and drew a quick breath, and Bilbo saw two tall figures standing in the threshold: an Elf, and a woman that he vaguely recalled from the night before. Although, the night before, the woman's eyes had not been reddened from crying. Thorin appeared almost as shocked as Bilbo, if not more. "I beg your pardon, Master..."

"That would be Lord Glorfindel to you," the Elf-lord stated, his voice stern and his eyebrows drawn into a line. Thorin grudgingly gave a slight bow, and Bilbo, still seated on the edge of the bed, bent his head for a moment. "There is no need for anything of that," Lord Glorfindel continued. "I came to ask: have either of you perhaps seen a young boy this morning or late last night, before the dawn? He is but a child, with dark hair and gray eyes."

The woman beside him began to weep despondently, and Glorfindel whispered something in her ear- it sounded comforting to Bilbo's ears, but he could not be sure, for it was Elvish and not the Westron that he was used to. However, Thorin stood straighter, a look of concern on his face. "Do you speak of the boy called Estel?" he inquired.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, while the woman looked up, a flicker of hope in her eyes. "Yes," Glorfindel said. "Have you seen him of late?" Bilbo, who was mulling the whole exchange over, suddenly recalled the vague image of a young boy watching the Elves dance. Unfortunately, this only added to his confusion, so he kept silent as Thorin spoke.

"I am sorry, Lord Glorfindel," Thorin said, sounding puzzled, "but I have not seen Estel recently. Last night, he spoke with Gandalf and I briefly, but he left before I could bid him a good night." He paused. "Why do you ask this of us?"

The Elf-lord did not answer Thorin's question, turning to Bilbo, who wavered under his gaze. He gestured for Bilbo to speak. "I- I haven't seen the child, Lord Glorfindel," the befuddled hobbit answered honestly. "Have you asked Gandalf? He may know."

Thorin opened his mouth to speak -most likely to repeat his question- but Glorfindel spoke, raising a hand in a gesture to keep them both quiet. The woman's tears were fading, and she watched the Elf-lord with hopeful eyes. Bilbo looked on, eyes wide. "To answer you, Thorin Oakenshield..." To Bilbo's mounting confusion, he sighed. "... Estel seems to have vanished from Rivendell, or is very well lost within the valley. His mother came to me only minutes ago, in a state of distress. She said that she had found his room to be empty, and we then came here to ask of him from you."

At this point, Bilbo had several questions gnawing at his brain, but stayed silent. "I offer you..." Thorin seemed to be conflicted in his feelings toward the woman. After all, she was not an Elf, but however, she appeared to live among them. "I offer you my condolences, my lady," Thorin said at last. "But I fear that there is nothing which our Company can do of this. We must leave very soon, you see."

Bilbo, as he was gazing at the doorway, noticed the sudden swish of fabric near the doorway, and there was Gandalf standing behind Lord Glorfindel. The Elf-lord turned. "Mithrandir," he said with a nod. "Forgive me for asking, but have you seen Estel? He-"

Gandalf interrupted. "My apologies," he said, adjusting his gray robes, "but I have a message from Lord Elrond. He has evidently learned of his son's disappearance, and he has sent others to the edge of the valley to track him. I will apologize again for often being the bearer of ill tidings, but Estel has apparently left Rivendell." Fresh tears fell from Estel's mother's eyes. Bilbo could have sworn that Gandalf gave a fleeting look of suspicion to Thorin. "He is headed for the Misty Mountains- at least, this is what I suspect." The tone of the wizard's voice was difficult to place.

Thorin muttered something harshly under his breath in the language of the Dwarves that evidently -judging by the look that Gandalf gave him- was rude. "You blame me!" he said, anger in his voice. "You think that the boy has left after our Company has- has _seduced_ him with tales of the land outside Rivendell! Trust the Elves to blame a Company of Dwarves!" His voice had risen to a shout. The last part had not been addressing anyone in particular, but Lord Glorfindel looked mildly irritated at the accusation.

Estel's mother and Glorfindel moved aside for a moment to allow Gandalf to pass into the room. The wizard then placed a hand on Thorin's shoulder, attempting to calm him down. "No one would think that of you, Thorin Oakenshield," he said. "But I fear that the fault lies with us both. Though we gave little information of our journey, Estel may have ventured off to join us and go to the Lonely Mountain, against our intentions."

Thorin cursed loudly in his native tongue, and Gandalf gave him a reproachful look. "But we can do nothing!" he said. "We _must_ leave very soon; we are already delayed."

Gandalf hesitated a moment, then nodded to show his agreement. "I must leave with the Company," he told Glorfindel. "But I wish you all the best of luck in your search. If we happen to stumble across Estel in the Misty Mountains, we will protect him to the best of our abilities." Here he lowered his voice to a grim murmur, and Bilbo could barely hear him. "Nevertheless, I fear for him."

* * *

Estel's head pounded like a gong that was being perpetually struck. He felt utterly miserable: his stomach tossed and turned violently with every movement, and there was something that felt suspiciously like blood against the skin on his neck and head. After a moment, he registered that his useless body was begin carried by... _something._

What had happened? He couldn't remember, seeing as his head was spinning so much. It pained him to move. Then he heard a grunting voice speaking, and harsh laughter, and he recalled the events on the path. The goblins had obviously taken him captive, and that was the most he could deduce, what with the pain in his skull. But where was he? How much time had passed since he had taken the hit to his head?

Cautiously, he opened his eyes, only to see darkness. The dark was deep and terrifying to Estel, who could not recall a day in all his years that had dawned pitch-black. Even the nights of Rivendell were lit by the stars and moon. But as his captor lugged him along further, he thought he could detect a faint, flickering reddish light ahead on the paths. He seemed to be _inside_ of the Misty Mountains, rather than out and over them.

The sound of footsteps drew nearer, and Estel quickly shut his eyes to appear still unconscious. Blinking for a moment before squeezing his eyes shut, he saw a second goblin, shorter and fatter than the first. "Well, what do you have 'ere?" he growled to the goblin that carried Estel. "Could this be the Elf-filth you found a few days back?"

The first goblin nodded; Estel felt his head bob. "Scum," he snarled, wrenching his head to the side to spit on Estel's face. "I've been dragging it along for days. Want a look at him before I take him to the Great Goblin?" he asked to the other goblin, and suddenly Estel found himself being pitched violently to the floor. Reflexively, he tried to brace himself on his tied hands, but that sent pain ricocheting through his body and into his head, and he let out a moan that morphed into a whimper of agony. Unfortunately, this only alerted the goblins to his state of consciousness.

"Look here!" the first goblin cried out. "The scum's awake!" He struck out with one booted foot at Estel's head, and unable to do anything, he cried out in pain as his wound seared, with no idea of what he was saying, only that a few words passed his lips. Through the blinding darkness that enveloped his vision, he saw the goblins' mouths stretch into smiles. The cruel laughter started up again. "Listen to him squeal for his mother! Oh, this will surely be entertainment!" one chortled.

"What about his supplies?" the second goblin asked, leering at Estel. "We must take them and bring them to the Great Goblin." Estel closed his eyes, feeling his pack slip from his shoulders and his boots being pulled from his feet. Soon, bare of shoes, cloak, and tunic, he lay helplessly on the floor of the path. Then the goblins began to speak again amongst themselves.

"It's a pity that the Elf-rat is too weak to run," one muttered, lashing out with another kick that grazed Estel's bare shoulder. "Or we could crack our whips at his back and see if he runs then! Drive the filth straight to the Great Goblin."

"It _is_ more entertaining with large groups, but who's to say that he is too weak?" croaked the other, and Estel was pulled roughly to his feet. "You! The Elf-friend rat!" he barked. Estel could barely manage the moan that escaped him; his head was swimming and he was doubled over with the pain in his stomach. "Run along, because we give plenty of cause for you to run!" A whip cracked a few feet away from his back, but the words of the goblins were a haze in his head. He was busy focusing on not emptying the contents of his stomach on the path and staying upright.

_"Run!"_ the first goblin bellowed in a voice not unlike the grinding of jagged stones. Still, Estel could not bring himself to even take a step forward. The second goblin gave him a mighty shove, and he staggered to keep his balance. Mistaking this as an attempt at running, the first goblin cracked his whip. Imitating the first, the second goblin fumbled as Estel fell to his knees, and struck the boy across the back. Estel felt a flash of pain tearing his skin open, and he let out a howling moan as he sank once more to the ground.

Dimly, he hear the smacking sound of flesh on flesh. "You imbecile!" grunted the first goblin. "We cannot _hit_ the Elf-friend rat; we are to drive him along!" He pulled Estel to his feet and slung him over his shoulder. Estel took a shuddering breath that reeked of goblin. "The scum is too weak to run, anyway. Now we must hasten to the Great Goblin!"

Estel kept his eyes closed as he was carried down the paths. Through the pain that coursed through his body, he could feel a terrible regret. Only recently, he had been longing for some sort of adventure, a journey out of Rivendell and into the world outside. Now, he wanted nothing more than to wake up safe and sound back in the only home he had ever known. Guilt twisted his stomach as he thought of his mother, of his father. He had not even said goodbye to them before he had set off. What would they think had happened? They may have even thought him dead!

It seemed too much to hope that Thorin and his Company, along with Mithrandir, would find him. But Estel still hoped in vain that he would be rescued, taken back to Rivendell to his mother and father. Without realizing it, his lips formed the word, and he moaned. "Mother..." he managed, his vision blurring for a moment in the dark. "Please..."

The second goblin, possibly hoping to redeem himself in his superior's eyes, laughed. "Shut your mouth, or your mother'll be mourning for her dead son soon enough!" he said, and both goblins cackled. Estel struggled not to let his emotions show, but panic was overwhelming him. _They mean to kill me! _he thought. _I will die, and it will be my own fault! _To his shame, tears sprang to his eyes and trickled down his face slowly._  
_

After a few minutes of near-silent crying, as to keep the goblins oblivious of his tears, Estel was roughly shoved to the ground in a large chamber. Sitting up partway, he looked around. The cavern was lit with a tremendous fire that roared right behind him, and torches provided further illumination. The fire, so nearby, made his hair stick to his forehead with sweat. He looked up, away from the two goblins who were bickering over who should keep his belongings, and saw a huge, ugly goblin sitting on a slab of stone in front of him. He shut his eyes immediately and was forced to his knees by one of the many guard-goblins.

To his horror as he cowered on the floor, the monstrosity before him spoke. "What have you brought to me?" he rumbled. "Was this the pathetic creature you found wandering the mountains alone after dark?" The chuckle that followed made Estel wince. Then there was a sharp grunt of disapproval, and he dared to look up for a moment. "Fools!" he bellowed at the goblins. "The Elf-friend is too weak now to be interrogated- because of _you!" _

The first goblin, the one who had carried Estel, stepped forward with a slight tremble and attempted a bow. "O Mighty One," he said, his voice less sure than before, "the creature would not submit. We were forced to knock him out and injure him a bit." The goblin's rattling breath made Estel shiver, despite the warmth radiated from the flames. "It- it was him, my companion, who gave him the whip-stroke across the back!" he added in an effort to redeem himself, placing the blame elsewhere.

"It was but an accident- a slip of the hand!" protested the other goblin, bowing hastily. That seemed to spark an altercation among the goblins, and as they argued, Estel wondered if he could possibly slip out of the cavern while they were distracted. There was of course the matters of the guards and the darkness and its disorientation, but it was a shred of hope to cling onto.

_Hope._ At the word, his mind was sent back to a previous time. It had been but days ago when he had come to his mother's room, seeking the answer to a question. _"Mother?"_ he had asked, once he was let into the room. _"Why was I named the Elvish word for 'hope'?" _He remembered sitting on his mother's bed, and she had drawn him close, cradling him against her body as if he were still naught but an infant.

The warmth of her arms around him on that day seemed to come back, and Estel shuddered and sprawled out on his back, curling up by the fire. _"You are the hope of your people, Estel, my son,"_ his mother had said, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. He had wondered who 'his people' might be, but he had not asked. _"You are their last hope."_ Tears had sprang to his mother's eyes, bright like jewels in the morning light as she held him closer. _"But you are also your own hope. You cannot give up, no matter what is to come."_ Estel, now wanting to comfort his mother, had climbed into her lap and rested his head against her chest. The steady beat of her heart had soothed him, and her warmth had made him sleepy. From there on, he only remembered drifting off and falling into a sleep with no dreams.

The memory made more tears sting in Estel's eyes, and he sat up again. The goblins were still quarreling, and the so-called Great Goblin on his throne was attempting to disciple them. Now was his chance: to escape into the dark that he had came from. Banishing his hesitation, he rose to his knees. _I must leave,_ he urged himself. _This may well be my only chance. _

Little by little, he eased his body into a standing position. This was already difficult, seeing as he felt dizzy and rather ill from his head wound, not to mention his tied hands. Finally, after several failed attempts, he got to his feet. But the pain in his body was too strong, and as he tried to take a step forward, he felt a rush of pain and let out a loud cry, falling once again to the floor.

This distracted the two goblins from their argument. The larger one burst into laughter. "Look, here!" he crowed to the Great Goblin. "The rat tried to run away! You see, O Most Tremendous One, he needed to be crippled." He strode over to Estel, who, lying helpless on the floor, tried without success to move away. "Should we save the questioning for later, or shall we beat a few answers from him now?" he asked.

"Bring him to me," boomed the Great Goblin. Estel was dragged roughly across the floor, scraping his face on the rock. "Guards! Surround the filth, so he cannot run from you." Estel could only see a circle of feet around him, the glow of the fire behind him illuminating the floor. "Now, what is a child doing in the Misty Mountains alone? With an _Elf-knife,_ no less."

Estel closed his eyes. It seemed a fool's hope, but he wondered if, upon not seeing for long enough, he would simply wake up to discover that this had been a dream. How he longed to be back in Rivendell, safe with his parents and the singing of Elves and sunlight filling the valley at daybreak! _I must not speak,_ he told himself firmly. _I cannot speak, or they will..._ He did not exactly know what the goblins would do, but it hit him a second later. _They will attack Rivendell, and ambush Thorin Oakenshield's Company! _This was not even considering what the goblins would do to him- either way.

"Speak!" the Great Goblin rumbled. "I am sure that you do not desire us to _make_ you speak!" This caused the guards around him to laugh, banging their weapons on the ground. Estel could feel the vibrations running through the rock. A goblin approached him and prodded his back with the shaft of his spear, but he still clenched his lips together, refusing to utter a single word.

He recalled all that he had learned of history and of the people in it: of Earendil and his Silmaril, of Isildur's taking of the One Ring, of the fall of Numenor and the few Faithful who were left... He had learned this from his father. Would his father, under a situation of duress like this, speak and betray his people? Would the warriors of old whom he had learned of betray their comrades? Estel knew that this was on a much smaller scale; but nevertheless, he could not bring himself to speak of where he had come from- or anything else.

* * *

Thorin's patience was near its limits. Or -possibly- it had passed any boundaries of limitation at the minute his Company had been taken by goblins. Goblins! And just after they had found a shelter from the storm with its whipping wind and cold rain. His dignity was also taking a few stabs, seeing as he and his Company were running wildly down dark paths with goblins driving them on. _The future King under the Mountain, reduced to stumbling in the dark and fleeing goblin-whips! _he thought bitterly.

When they staggered straight into a cavern lit by a crackling fire, Thorin's eyes were drawn to the goblins, and to the gargantuan goblin atop a chunk of rock. His guards were armed with weapons that were surprisingly well-made. Goblins were experts at the craft of weapon-making. They also made spectacular torture devices, or so Thorin had heard. He hoped that he had heard wrong, especially as he gazed up at the disgusting goblin on his throne. _There is a King under the Mountain here also,_ Thorin thought ruefully. _This is a different Mountain, with a different King. B__ut when I am King under the Mountain, I will surely surpass a large goblin sitting upon a simple rock._

The group was chained together by their hands. Some struggled, the younger Dwarves for the most part, and their burglar looked almost hysterical in Thorin's eyes. He himself did not put up a fight, for it was useless. He gave a quick look around. Where was Gandalf? He had obviously struck down several goblins in the cave, but the wizard was nowhere to be found at the moment. Surely he would come to their aid, that is, if he was able. The Company did seem to be a high priority of his.

Shifting upon the rock on which he sat, the Great Goblin spoke. "Who are these miserable persons?" he grunted, a frown etched into his hideous face. Thorin tried to hide his disgust.

One of the goblins who had driven them along the paths came forth. "Dwarves, and this!" he answered with a slight bow, and with that he yanked on the chain at Bilbo's wrists. The hobbit fell forward onto his knees with a thud, and, because they were all linked together, the Dwarves nearest him wavered slightly. "We found them sheltering in our Front Porch."

That "Front Porch" must have been referring to the cave in which they had sheltered, Thorin assumed. At least Fili and Kili were not to blame for finding an unsavory place to spend the storm- Thorin himself had seen no signs of goblins in the cave, and they would not have either. The Great Goblin, however, seemed to have other suspicions.

"What do you mean by it?" he grumbled, facing Thorin directly. Then a wicked grin spread across his misshapen face, his cracked and blackened teeth bared in a malevolent smile. "Or had you been merely roaming the mountains, clueless of what lies there, such as our other prisoner?" _Other prisoner?_ Thorin thought for a moment, then, dismissing the issue, began to search for a way out. The Great Goblin motioned to one of his guards. "You! Bring out the Elf-friend. Perhaps he will chance to speak in the presence of others."

Thorin was now thoroughly distracted from his failed plotting. He looked up to see a horrendous sight. Led by the goblin-guard was a prisoner. He was small, still a child, and for the most part bare of garments. Blood oozed from his body in multiple places, most of them scrapes, with the exception of a lash down the back and a few cuts on the head and neck. His hands were tied, and his face glistened with tears that he could not wipe away. The sound of sobs echoed through the cavernous halls. Thorin could not bring himself to look any longer at the boy. He had no recognition of him, and yet... yet there was something that seemed familiar to him.

"Well?" said the Great Goblin. "Do you know of this Elf-friend?" The goblins dragged the boy, who was still crying, nearer to the fire.

Thorin hesitated for a moment. There had been that same flicker of recognition at the word _Elf-friend._ It seemed to be something to do with the Elves. But his mind, still panicked and searching only for an escape from the goblins, could not figure out the rest. "No," he answered, his voice sure as he could bring it to be. "I know nothing of him."

At these words, however, the boy began to struggle more than ever. For the first time, he spoke. "No!" he yelled, squirming and reeling dizzily to one side. "No! Tell them- tell them that I only wanted to see- I only- _no!_" The phrases were disjointed, hardly words to Thorin. The last exclamation had been as a guard had pulled him back. "I want to go back! I cannot- I have seen outside now- there is _no_ hope!"

The words, echoing through the caves, seemed to echo back into Thorin's head. _There is no hope... I have seen outside now... I only wanted to see.. tell them... no..._ Then it came to him, who this boy was. For he now remembered the conversation he had had days ago in Rivendell, with the Elven-lord Glorfindel, of a missing boy. The night before that, he had spoken with a child of the race of Men, who had been curious of his journey. Gandalf had later said that he had left Rivendell and set out for the Misty Mountains..._  
_

"Estel," he whispered, his voice hoarse with disbelief and horror. _"Estel."_


	3. A Reluctant Choice

**Again, thanks to those who reviewed/favorited/followed- and read. I'm really grateful.**

**As in the last chapter, I borrow a couple lines from the book. This isn't worth putting a disclaimer for every chapter, so I'll say now that if there are lines from the book, they obviously aren't mine.**

**Double thanks to Shady [stick-at-nought shady] for beta-ing, since I forgot to give her credit last chapter.**

* * *

**A Reluctant Choice **

* * *

Thorin was struck dumb for a moment. How could this crying, weakened child be _Estel,_ the curious yet somber boy he had met in Rivendell among the Elves? It seemed impossible, and yet, it could very well be true. For Gandalf had said that Estel left Rivendell for the Misty Mountains, headed for the Lonely Mountain. He would have tried to find a path over, and he could have stumbled upon one of the perilous, goblin-ridden trails. There were quite a few ways in the Misty Mountains that led many an unknowing man to his death. Yes, this must have been Estel.

But what was he to do? He could not very well reveal the nature of his journey to the Great Goblin and allow himself and his Company to be captured, but he also could not sacrifice the quest just for this boy. Then it came to him, who could make this decision in his stead: Gandalf. Gandalf would surely find a way, some sort of way that involved his own aid, to save the Company _and_ Estel from the perils of the Misty Mountains. However, Thorin could not bring himself to see why his Company, the Dwarves' last hope of regaining the Lonely Mountain, was anywhere near the worth of Estel. For they were his kindred, and he could not let them down.

He twisted his head around to face the Dwarf behind him, glimpsing the face of young Fili. "We must find a way out," he hissed, in the tongue of the Dwarves as to hide his words from the goblins. "We will have to leave the boy. Pass on the word; tell the others to look around for some type of tunnel or path." His sister-son stared at him dimly for a moment. Thorin glared. "Quickly! We must leave."

Word began passing down the line in whispers. Thorin watched out of the corner of his eyes, his gaze mainly trained on Estel and the Great Goblin. When the message came to Dori, who was second to last in the line, he hissed a quick "Follow me" to Bilbo in the Common Tongue. The hobbit nodded, a little nervously, giving a nervous glance to Estel.

"Well!" the Great Goblin barked, making several of the Dwarves flinch at the unexpected exclamation. "One of you must speak. I am sure now that you recognize each other, although _you_ are certainly not Elf-friends like him!" He gestured to Estel, who was being partially supported by the guards with his head lolling backwards. Thorin felt his insides knot, and he averted his eyes. For a few minutes, all was silent save for the ominous crackle of the fire. Then the Great Goblin once again spoke. "None have spoken!" he called to his guards. "We must-"

Thorin, thankfully, never got an opportunity to know what the goblins would do. For at that moment, one of the goblins who had driven them through the dark stepped forward. "They have many stories to tell!" he said. "Some of our group were struck down by a sort of flash of lightning, on the Front Porch. Also, they have not explained _this!" _he said, his voice ending in a howl. "They have an Elven-blade, and not any common Elven-made sword either!"

Glinting in the light of the fire, Thorin saw the gleaming blade Orcrist, the sword that he had claimed from the Trolls' hoard. He knew it to be a very valuable blade, a mighty weapon of Gondolin from days long left behind. Gandalf had said that it had slain many a goblin; the creatures referred to it as Biter. The goblins reacted with menace: the chorus of stomping feet and growls and clanging weapons echoed throughout the chamber, but seemed to be muffled in the immense darkness beyond.

"Murderers!" the Great Goblin ululated in a wail. "Elf-friends! Seize them! Break their bones and grind them to dust! Splash their filthy blood on our floors! Let their screams of agony be heard throughout Goblin-town!" He stood up, massive body towering over his guards, and shook his fist. Then, just as the Dwarves were torn between attempting to run off and cowering in fear, he paused. "However," he said, a repulsive smile spreading across his face like a spring's water over stone, "however, there is the _other _Elf-friend. Perhaps _he_ will tell us exactly how Thorin Oakenshield acquired this blade."

Thorin frowned. This- this _goblin_ knew his name? Fortunately, the Great Goblin was preoccupied, turning towards his young captive. Thorin could hardly bear to lay eyes upon the boy. This was not primarily out of personal concern; it only made him wonder exactly what the goblins would do to the Dwarven wielder of 'Biter'. Estel looked to be close to unconsciousness, his hair sticking to his head with his own blood. He sank to his knees, burying his head in his hands and letting out a noise that was half bawl and half moan.

"Elf-friend!" one of the guards snarled. "You are commanded to speak, or to suffer pain! Tell us of these Dwarves, and their purpose here, and why one carries Biter." Estel lifted his head and gazed directly at Thorin with wide eyes, the tears in them reflecting the light of the fire. Thorin tried to tear his eyes away, he truly did. But it was as if he was witnessing a particularly horrible death before his eyes: it was terrible, but he could not stop watching. Then there was a loud yelp as a guard struck Estel, but the boy refused to speak.

A collection of wicked, knowing grins was arrayed on the faces of the goblins as Estel wept. _They will bring out their torture devices and use them on us all in turn!_ Thorin thought furiously. _We cannot take him with us if we escape; and likely we will not escape, if he doesn't speak. T__his boy will be the death and failure of my Company! Damn him, damn him with Morgoth! __  
_

Before he had a chance to think of taking back the atrocious thought, the torches in the caves were suddenly extinguished. After a blink of astonishment, Thorin found the blaze of fire replaced with a cloud of silver-blue smoke that rose to the heights above, sending sparks at the goblins. The scene before his eyes became chaos: the goblins seemed to have gone positively berserk, kicking and fighting and howling, screeching as the sparks burned at them. Through the cacophonous tumult, Thorin could hear shrieking cries in a tongue that seemed to be Elvish. It was likely Estel, for he was still among the guard-goblins and vulnerable to the burning sparks from the fire and frantic tussles of the nearby creatures.

Suddenly, a sword flashed through the darkness like a ray of moonlight through a winter night of darkest skies. This blade was obviously not Orcrist; Thorin recognized it as the blade that Gandalf had taken, called Glamdring, or Foe-hammer. From a goblin's muffled shriek, he deduced that it was called Beater. It seemed a fitting name for a sword of such renown. That very sword now pierced straight through the Great Goblin, who fell down dead as the blade was drawn from his body once again. In the moment that followed, the guards and the goblin-drivers alike made a quick retreat, squealing and running off into the dark.

The sword was once again sheathed. "Follow me quick!" a voice commanded. Thorin started stumbling almost blindly after the owner of the voice, his Company staggering along behind. Then, quite suddenly, a wail started up from the opposite side of the room. The words were strangled with a choking sob, and in an Elven-tongue at that, but Thorin distinguished one word. _Mithrandir:_ the Elves' name for Gandalf. The figure guiding them through the dark could very well be Gandalf. Yes, it must have been. However, at that moment, the wizard stopped upon hearing his Elvish name. He seemed to be contemplating something, and Thorin had a guess as to what it was.

"Gandalf!" Thorin said, his voice hushed. "We must leave the boy! He is not anywhere near the importance of our Company, and we cannot risk vulnerability because of him!"

His insisting words went unheeded. As Dori gave Bilbo a moment to climb onto his back -the hobbit was a much slower runner than the Dwarves were- Gandalf strode over to Estel. To Thorin's utter frustration, he stooped and gingerly lifted the crying child, who appeared to be bawling out something in Elvish. "No, Thorin!" Gandalf said firmly. "We swore to Lord Glorfindel that we would protect him- and he means much more than anyone thinks, including myself." The wizard handed Estel to Gloin, who tried to keep the boy on his back. "Now quickly! They will light the torches again, and we shall be pursued!" he called, leading them onward.

* * *

It seemed to Lord Elrond that the mood of Imladris was hollow. The merry singing with its 'tra-la-la-lally's and 'ha! ha!'s seemed to be an empty echo. Elrond himself had almost no intention of leaving his bedchambers. He felt that he had failed so many people: Mithrandir, Lady Gilraen, the Dunedain, himself, and Estel most of all. The line of Isildur could forever be ended, and the cause would be the curiosity of a young boy- and his own blindness. He should have foreseen an incident of this type, ever since Estel had started staying awake past the sun to traverse the valley. He seemed to have inherited a wandering spirit from his forefathers and his kin. Elrond had been attempting to keep a watchful eye over the boy, for it would prove perilous if he ventured outside of the valley. But he had evidently not been watching closely enough.

Seeing the Lady Gilraen weep had almost been more painful than discovering Estel's disappearance. The woman had lost her husband Arathorn and her people, and now her son was likely dead, also. She did not blame Lord Elrond for the tragedy, but the sadness in her eyes was enough to make anyone sorrowful at heart. This only had caused him to think of Estel, lost in the Misty Mountains, not knowing the perils of the paths he tread...

A soft knock at the door caused him to stand. "Enter," he said calmly, and Lord Glorfindel stepped into the room. His golden hair was windswept. "Why have you come? Do you have news of Estel?"

"Yes, my lord," Glorfindel said. "Several of us followed Estel's tracks from days ago, straight to the foot of the Misty Mountains." Elrond opened his mouth to speak, frowning, but Glorfindel raised a hand as a signal for silence. "He appeared to have been searching for a path, pacing. Then his tracks went up a small path, up into the mountains." Here Lord Glorfindel could not meet Elrond's eyes. "We dared not venture far up the path, for we have knowledge that it is infested with goblins further up."

Lord Elrond felt a sense of growing agitation. "Was there sign of a struggle?" he inquired. "Estel took a knife from me to arm himself, but..." He could not bring himself to finish the sentence. _He is young and helpless to the world. The land outside of Imladris is cruel._

Glorfindel shook his head, smoothing his hair. "We did not see any signs of fight at the foot of the mountain," he said solemnly. "However, we have much reason to believe that Estel has been captured or killed by the goblins. For you see, we planned to go a short way up the mountain for some sign of him, but we had gone naught but a few steps when goblins appeared, four of them. We slew three, then interrogated the last, desperate for some news. He..." Glorfindel paused. "He gave word of someone he called the 'Elf-friend', and 'strange Dwarves on the Front Porch'. He said that they were being taken to their so-called 'Great Goblin'. He appeared to be a messenger, sent to alert others of Dwarves on the mountain. We have killed him."

Elrond kept his expression composed. "The Dwarves must be Thorin and his Company," he said, as if thinking aloud. "So they have been taken by the goblins. But I am sure that Mithrandir will get them out safely. He always seems to find a way. But the Elf-friend... they have taken Estel. I am certain, for he carried an Elven-made knife with him, so they would call him Elf-friend. He has likely been tortured to death." Voicing his darkest thoughts, he felt his heart sink.

"My lord Elrond," Glorfindel began, "there is still some chance that their paths have crossed. Mithrandir swore to me that they would protect Estel to the best of their abilities should they meet. Perhaps, if the Company crosses the Misty Mountains alive, they will have Estel with them. It is but a shadow of chance, but if Mithrandir persuaded them, I am sure that the Company would attempt to keep Estel safe. They are not bad folk, those Dwarves, despite their slight enmity with us."

With a nod, Elrond stood. "But with the exception of Mithrandir, they know nothing of Estel. They have no idea of his importance. They think him nothing but a child of Men." He met Glorfindel's eyes. "Thank you for your aid. But still I fear that from his own folly and from that of the Company, Estel will perish."

* * *

Through a haze, Estel could see a light burning in the dark. For a moment, he thought that there was another dreadful fire burning, and he tensed. Then he saw it illuminate the face of Mithrandir, and his heart lifted. The light came from his blade, a wonderful sword that appeared to rejoice at the Great Goblin's death. He tried to open his mouth to speak, to thank Mithrandir for saving him, but only a groan came out, and he buried his face deeper in the shoulder of the Dwarf that carried him. He smelled the musty reek of sweat and unwashed bodies, mingled with the tang of his own blood.

"Gandalf?" a Dwarf near the back of their stumbling line asked. "Why are we taking this boy? We cannot afford to be burdened." His tone sounded suspicious, and rightly so, but not angry. "And what will we do with such a young child when we pass the Misty Mountains: leave him to the Wargs and goblins?"

It registered fuzzily in Estel's mind that they were speaking of him. Before he could attempt to say anything -which was likely to fail- Mithrandir spoke. "There is no time for explanations at the moment!" he said, hurriedly going down the line and sawing off their chains with the still-glowing sword. When Mithrandir came to him, Estel raised his head slightly and tried to meet the wizard's eyes, but his head fell again as his bonds were cut away. He blinked away the splotchy afterimages of the blade's light.

Mithrandir gave a quick count of the Company, then urged them onward. On the Dwarves ran, at a very good pace that Estel would not be able to achieve even in health. His head thumped dully against a shoulder, and he felt his eyelids sinking down. _I was such a fool!_ he thought, berating himself. _I should have never set foot outside of Rivendell! I want nothing more than to go home, now that I have been outside. _Biting determinedly at his lip to prevent his tears from returning, he shut his eyes and did all he could to block out all sound.

They had come for a long way, as it seemed, when the sounds of goblin feet and calls sounded through the paths. Estel fought at the fog that dulled his mind, trying to see what was going on. As they rounded a corner, Thorin and Mithrandir made their way to the back of the group. "About turn!" Mithrandir called loudly to the Dwarf, drawing his shining blade. "Draw your sword, Thorin!"

When Thorin's sword joined Mithrandir's, the goblins turned the corner and nearly collided with the wizard and the Dwarf. The first row discarded their torches -better to lose their light than their lives- and were soon slain with blurs of silver metal and dark blood. The others, seeing the plight of their fellows, scrambled back to flee, with terrified cries of "Biter!" and "Beater!". Estel watched with a sort of horrified fascination. The exchange was almost too quick for terror to register, for which he was most grateful.

Once all of their foes had fled back into the darkness, the Dwarves set off once again, Thorin and Mithrandir sheathing their mighty swords. Estel was passed to a different Dwarf, who was much stockier than the previous. Clinging on with the little strength left in his arms, he held tight to the broad shoulders and braced his legs against the large body. This small effort exhausted him; in this condition, he could barely keep himself conscious.

In the rhythmic thud of footfalls, Estel found a lullaby. The gentle bounce of his body against the back of the Dwarf carrying him reminded him of being a very small child, rocked in his mother's arms. There were still occasional nights when sleep would evade him, and he would stumble with bleary eyes into his mother's chambers, thinking that her embrace would bring comfort and rest. Lately, she would laugh and ruffle his dark hair. _"Estel, you are growing up,"_ she would say with a laugh, never complaining when he awakened her. _"You are quite large for me to hold. Soon you will scarcely fit upon my lap!"_ But without protest, she would take him in her arms, sometimes shifting him back and forth slowly until his eyes closed and his breathing slowed: _back and forth, back and forth, back and forth..._

_I must not sleep,_ Estel thought desperately, _for I am wounded, and there is a danger that I may not wake for some time. _However, he could not prevent the sleepiness that overcame him in the end. He had no idea of how long he had spent unconscious, or in the cavern with the Great Goblin, but it had been long since his last true sleep.

When he woke again, after a time that seemed both short and long, Estel remembered little of his dreams. He could recall vague images of Imladris, sunlit and merry, and of his mother and father. Then, from what he could remember, the dream had inexplicably taken a turn to darkness, veering into lands of fire and goblins and pain. He gasped for breath, his head throbbing with agony. _Thank the Valar that it was not unconsciousness,_ he thought.

Mithrandir appeared to be purposefully lagging behind. Jogging side by side with the Dwarf carrying Estel, his boots tramping across the floor, he peered closer. "Good: you have woken. It is good that Bombur held tight to you," he said, breathing hard as he ran. "I feared for you, as do your mother and father still." Estel shut his eyes for a moment at the word of his family. With a pang, he remembered that he had neglected to even bid goodbye to them. "But that is talk for another time," he added, seeing the pained look on Estel's face. "When we have passed out of the Misty Mountains, we must decide what will become of you."

Estel did not like the sound of that. However, he knew that he could not burden the Company. With monumental effort, he lifted his head. "Leave me. I- I beg of you to leave me," he mumbled, trying to sound as dignified as possible while holding back a rushing bout of nausea. "We can go past the mountains... and when I am healed, I can cross back over..."

With a shake of his head, Mithrandir gave a sort of sympathetic look to Estel. "You cannot," he said, gently as it seemed he could muster. "You are injured already and would have perished had I not come." He paused for breath. "I believe I know what must ultimately be done," he continued. "You desired to see the world outside Rivendell. You will receive what you hoped for, and much more, be it good or evil." Mithrandir once again ran to the front of the line, giving Thorin a brighter light to guide his Company by.

Shutting his eyes once more, Estel mulled over Mithrandir's cryptic words. What he had hoped for only days ago had been to roam outside Rivendell, but now he hoped only to wake up in his warm bed: uninjured, happy, and with his mother and father. This was a confusing topic for his weary mind, so he instead concentrated solely on staying awake. Half of him seemed to be pleading for another good rest, and the other half just wanted him to collapse to the floor and give in to the queasiness that seemed to originate in his pounding head.

All of a sudden, a Dwarf at the rear of their line let out a shout, and there was the _thump!_ of a body on the stone floor. Estel turned his head and saw, to his horror, a group of goblins. They had been sneaking along behind them, fleet-footed and silent, and none had taken notice. Snarling and drawing their cruel weapons, they advanced on the shocked group. Mithrandir and Thorin drew their blades and moved swiftly towards the goblins, for the other Dwarves were not as well armed.

As Bombur, the Dwarf who was carrying Estel, tried to flee down the path, Estel slid from his shoulders and flew through the air for a stomach-tossing moment. When his hands and knees hit the ground, his arms buckled under the weight of his fall, and his upper body smacked hard on the rock. A jarring pain beat in his head like the tolling of some hideous bell that caused pain with every ring. Forcing his body up, he knelt and tried to hold still as to calm his stomach. It was useless, and amid the clash of swords and yells of battle, he retched miserably, vomit slopping down his chest.

Around him, the Dwarves were fighting as best they could. Estel could not regain his footing, and he would not have been able to walk far either way. The bodies of goblins littered the floor like bright autumn leaves after a strong wind-gust. Mithrandir's sword flashed through the air with Thorin's, slaying goblins forward and backward, left and right.

Then Estel's eyes were suddenly dazzled with a bright flare. He squinted, and, seeing the goblins flee, saw Mithrandir. "Follow me, everybody!" he said, leading the Dwarves quickly down the passage. Leaving their swords unsheathed, he and Thorin hastened through the dark, with Mithrandir lighting the way. The others followed frantically, eager to be rid of Goblin-town and to leave the Misty Mountains behind.

Estel, however, could not bring himself to walk. Unsteadily, he stood, wavering and stumbling forward. "Do not leave me!" he cried. A few of the Dwarves acknowledged his cry, while the others hurried on unheeding. "Please! I cannot run by myself."

Unfortunately, it seemed that he would have to. The Company was far ahead now, and Estel was almost driven to tears. _Mithrandir had spared him, had taken him along!_ The thought was painful: being left behind, after such measures had been taken to preserve his life. He had nearly given up hope when he was suddenly hefted onto a Dwarf's back. "Gandalf wishes for you to remain safe," the Dwarf said, as an explanation.

He nodded weakly. "Thank you," he mumbled into his hair as they ran. He then heard the noises of goblins, and squeezed his eyes shut tight. But it seemed that there was no danger, and when his eyes once again opened, they were met with sunlight. Oh, glorious sunlight! He would have given anything for a light that was not fire in the last few days.

Things appeared to blur before his eyes, and before he knew it, he found himself seated in a small dell, filled with bushes. The Dwarves were out of breath, and Thorin and Mithrandir finally sheathed their blades. When everyone had regained their breath, one spoke up. "Gandalf?" he asked, giving a strange look to Estel. "I mean no offense, but..." His voice trailed off for a moment. "As others have said, our Company cannot be burdened with this child."

Estel glanced back at the ominous forms of the Misty Mountains, towering above them just to the west. He had every intention of going back to Imladris: for now he had gotten his fair share of adventures, and found them to be enough for the time being. But not only was the way back a difficult one, the sunlight and the mountains sparked a recognition within him, a sort of desire to see mountains even higher, to ford rivers shimmering and wide, to roam forests where the trees reached for the clouds like desperate hands.

He knew at that moment that he could not bear to be forsaken here. Either he would die crossing the mountains again, or he would return to Rivendell, heartsick for the land outside. Even the latter was unlikely, since death would be simple to stumble upon in these lands. He made his decision. "I would not burden you," he spoke up, the words sounding fragile to his own ears. "But, please, let me go with you."


	4. Sixteen Birds

**Thank you to my reviewers, favoriters, followers, and readers, and a special thank-you to Shady for beta-ing.**

**I'm also incredibly sorry for the wait; I've been busy with other writing, and with life in general- but I'm sure you've all heard that excuse before.**

* * *

**Sixteen Birds**

* * *

After a moment that seemed utterly devoid of sound, Thorin stood, furious. "Gandalf, we cannot!" he protested. "You know well as I that the boy would perish if we left him alone here, but if we take him with us to the Lonely Mountain, _all_ will be killed for the sake of protecting him!" It was true that Thorin placed much of his faith in the wizard, but sometimes Gandalf seemed to do unreasonable things. Thorin knew that Gandalf likely had some type of motive which only he knew of, and he was far more wise than Thorin, but no matter what happened, his Company was of great importance. After all the miles they had left behind, they could not be forced to turn back. The Company could not weaken, for it would surely lead to their death, and a painful one at that.

Gandalf's thick brows furrowed over his dark eyes. "Thorin Oakenshield," he said, "before you speak rashly, I must speak with you, with your ears being the only ones listening." His eyes scanned the Company; all were silent. Thorin noticed Balin standing guard between two large boulders, higher up. "I cannot fully trust any of you with this information, regardless of need. For we are in a time of desperation: a decision needs making, and our burglar is missing."

Startled, Thorin looked around. Gandalf was right; Bilbo was nowhere to be seen. He held back a string of rude words. It was enough having to decide what to do with Estel, but now Bilbo Baggins was gone. "What shall we do?" Thorin asked after a moment. "We must make haste. Durin's Day draws closer by the hour. We cannot very well leave our burglar behind with those goblins, but we cannot stay here either." He paused to think it over. "We shall leave. We must."

This sparked a sort of argument between Gandalf and the Dwarves. Gandalf did not desire to leave the hobbit behind, while most of the Dwarves wished to reach the Lonely Mountain as fast as they were able. Thorin caught a glimpse of Estel, sitting quietly on the ground and leaning against a bush. The situation was almost too much for him. Both of the choices, made wrong, would put their quest in jeopardy.

Gandalf, frowning, spoke to the Dwarves. "After all he is my friend, and not a bad little chap," he said, appearing rather unhappy. "I feel responsible for him. I wish to goodness you had not lost him."

Another chorus of protests started up, and Thorin was silent. None wanted to venture back into the terrifying goblin tunnels, and there they would be looked upon with thrice as much hate for what they had done previously. After a remark from Bifur that seemed to explain these thoughts quite well, Gandalf grew angry. He said that he had brought the burglar, and that he never brought things that were of no use (which Thorin strongly doubted at the moment, since Gandalf had brought both Bilbo and Estel, in a sense). He began to argue with Dori, asking why he had dropped the hobbit and not picked him up.

Dori supported his point quite well. He was beginning to look rather angered when suddenly, after a particularly furious exclamation, Bilbo appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "And here's the burglar!" the hobbit said proudly, standing as tall as he could in the middle of their group.

Thorin was just as shocked as his companions. After a sort of collective flinch, all the Dwarves were shouting out. They all appeared quite happy, and relieved at the fact that they would not, after all, have to search for Bilbo in the goblin tunnels. Gandalf looked particularly joyful. Through all of the clamor and catching up of events, Thorin himself harbored several doubts. His respect to the burglar had admittedly risen greatly -after all, Bilbo had made it past the goblin-guards of the lower gate and survived a game with some creature named Gollum- but it almost seemed suspicious. However, he kept these nagging feelings to himself, masking the trace of suspicion with a chuckle at Bilbo's lament for his lost buttons.

Gandalf was urging them on when he suddenly turned to Thorin. "We must resolve one quick manner before we set out," he said. Thorin let out an angry huff; it was about the boy, he was sure of it. Turning to the group, the wizard continued. "As you have noticed, we have found ourselves with a sixteenth companion," he said, gesturing to Estel. The child was shivering, though the sun was still above the horizon. "Before we come to a decision about this, I must have a brief word with you, Thorin."

Before Thorin could protest, Gandalf had gotten hold of his cloak and was pulling him off into the bushes. He did not protest or put up a struggle at this. "Gandalf!" he said crossly, once they were out of earshot. "You cannot take this boy in with us! This quest will be doomed if we choose to burden ourselves so!" He kept his voice low, but it was harsh nevertheless. "Please, Gandalf, we must not- for the sake of the Dwarves and their King under the Mountain!"

A sort of anger seemed to grow in Gandalf. His brow was furrowed, and his voice was insistent. "Thorin Oakenshield!" he said sternly. "The Dwarves are not the only race in Middle-earth!" His voice suddenly was hushed, and he leaned closer to Thorin so he could hear. "I cannot speak of my true reasons for wanting to protect the boy," he said, "but it will suffice to say for now that you are not the only heir to something long forgotten."

This only further puzzled Thorin. _Curse it!_ he thought, his hand gripping the hilt of Orcrist reflexively. _Upon Durin himself, I cannot fathom what Gandalf means! _In his mind dwelt only flickers of recognition, thoughts of the lost isle of Numenor and its forgotten rulers. But he did not speak of it, for surely Estel was not an heir of Numenor. Instead he only nodded, and made to turn away. With a sigh, he realized that he could not have conflict with Gandalf's words. Most likely, the wizard was right, and it would be cruel to leave Estel behind. Obviously, Gandalf had some ulterior motive, but that was a thought for a later time.

Before he could go back to his Company, Gandalf's hand clasped his shoulder tightly. "You must not speak a word of what I have said," he added urgently. "Not to your Company, not to anyone. The information is more vital than any of us can now grasp. Do you understand?" Thorin, seeing the somberness in Gandalf's eyes, could not disagree. He nodded once again, and with that, they rejoined the Company.

Thorin turned to the Company, surveying their expressions. Most looked to him for a decision, including Bilbo. Estel still sat silently. Gandalf's eyes seemed to prompt him to speak. "Gandalf and I have come to a decision!" Thorin said, after clearing his throat. He gave a pointed look to Estel. The boy looked absolutely pitiful at the moment; Thorin could not see how he was at all valuable. "We have decided upon taking the boy."

A bit of muttered protest and groans erupted at his statement from the Dwarves, and Bilbo stood silently, not appearing to have any clear opinion in the matter. However, Estel stood and smiled with joy, his prematurely weary face alight with happiness. "Thank you, Lord Thorin!" he said, with a small bow. "I... I promise that I will do my best not to be a hindrance to your Company." Here he looked slightly doubtful, Thorin noted. Unsure of the proper response -what would one say to a boy who lived among the Elves, in this situation?- Thorin gave a nod, still slightly puzzled as to why the child called him 'Lord Thorin'.

Since they had lost their packs, none could spare a hood or cloak for Estel, though Gandalf assured him that they ought to be able to replenish their supplies along their way. The wizard glanced up at the sky, frowning. "We have lingered here too long," he said grimly. "We must hurry, if we are to evade the goblins for a time. They will certainly pursue us."

The group was ready to set out once again. Thorin bemoaned the loss of their ponies. Journeying on foot could be difficult at times, but in rough country, the Company would be grateful that they were without their mounts. The present land was not extremely difficult, yet he knew that Gandalf likely knew the area better than he, so he moved a pace back from the front of the group. They would be fortunate not to have some type of encounter with goblins before the sun rose, and the Company had been delayed too long in their crossing of the Misty Mountains.

"Lead us onward, Gandalf," Thorin said.

* * *

Estel was relieved. Not only would he be in the protection of the Company, he would also journey with them. At the very least, he would journey with them for the time being. Thorin had mentioned a place called Lake-town, and Estel was sure that the Dwarf-lord would manage to leave him behind in the company of Men. Despite this, he felt mentally content.

However, he was in no way physically content. He was still feeling rather unwell from the injuries he had sustained from the goblins, and he had wished that the Dwarves had a cloak to spare for him. Unfortunately, all of them had lost their supplies- including their provisions, as Estel now realized as his hunger grew. He did not point this out to Mithrandir, who was leading the group. As he walked along, he suppressed a smile when the hobbit who had called himself Bilbo Baggins inquired about food.

In Imladris, in Rivendell, in the only home that Estel could remember, there would certainly be an abundance of food. Suddenly, Estel felt the hunger even stronger, thinking of the plentiful sustenance back at the Last Homely House. He attempted to distract himself as he walked along, but to no avail. The only thought that was perhaps worse than the thought of food was of Rivendell. He knew that he had been gone several days, but only now was he starting to feel the loss directly. He did not know what to think. Did he wish to come back to Imladris, or to journey with Thorin and Company? It seemed too much to ponder at the moment, so he walked silently, trying not to look like the type of companion that would be a severe hindrance.

Soon, they came to a long drop, scattered with stones. "A landslide," he heard one Dwarf mutter. Although he likely had heard this comment, Thorin Oakenshield proceeded down the slope. Estel took a cautious step, sending a few pebbles skidding down. As he made his way down, the stones seemed larger, and more frequent. It seemed as if the slope was sliding down to meet them from above, and running out from beneath their feet. Estel's own feet still were bare -the goblins had taken his shoes- and he found it immensely difficult to keep going, wincing as rocks stabbed at his feet.

Down the slope stood the Company's savior: a stand of evergreens. As they haphazardly came down, the Company was sheltered by the trees. Some of the Dwarves clung to branches, staying above the sliding sheet of boulders. Others stood behind trees, as rocks came crashing down on their either side. Estel ducked behind the nearest tree and found himself face to face with Bilbo Baggins, who looked rather surprised to see him. "I'm sorry," Estel whispered, rocks thundering around them.

Bilbo nodded. "Yes- yes, that's all right," he said, with a weak sort of smile. With that, and when the rocks stopped their downward movement, the hobbit and the child of Men stepped out from behind the tree.

Estel paused for a moment to examine his battered feet. He longed for his comfortable pair of shoes, now lying lost in the goblin tunnels, and sighed. When he looked up again, the group was setting off again, and he stumbled painfully along behind them. The shadows were deep, and never before had he felt so lost, in this endless land of silent forest. The world seemed to be never-ending, outside of Imladris. It was darker here -thankfully, not as dark as it had been in that dreadful Goblin-town, but still darker than what he was used to. In Rivendell, the fair light of Ithil had been a gentle guide. Here, out in the open, the quick glimpses of moonlight were cold and harsh, even in the warm summer.

It seemed that the trek through dark wilderness would never cease, when after quite some time, the Company stopped in a clearing. It was lit by the same glaring moonlight as Estel had seen earlier. But something about this glade did not feel entirely benevolent, and he shivered, stepping closer to the nearest Dwarf and glancing warily into the shadows.

Then a horrific sound came that chilled Estel to the bone. A wolf's howl resounded through the trees, moaning. It was answered by another, and then another answered the second! He gasped involuntarily. "Mithrandir, help!" he whispered in terror, eyes wide and straining to catch a glimpse of the wolves. He had never seen any, but he had heard of them from his father's Elven sons, who often traveled in the North. The horrible Wargs could very well attack and injure their little group, especially himself.

Nearby, Bilbo Baggins was panicking. Of course, most all of them were panicking, but usually not aloud. "Escaping goblins to be caught by wolves!" Estel heard him shout, and he wished not only for a proper pair of shoes, but for the knife that he had borrowed from his father. Even though he had technically stolen it -especially since Elrond would likely never get it back, what with the goblins- he had not a single regret about it. In fact, he would have snatched scores of knives from every Elf in Rivendell, just so he would not have gotten in this situation. _I doubt that I could use a knife properly against a Warg, anyway,_ he thought unhappily, looking to Mithrandir for guidance.

"Up the trees quick!" the wizard urged. The Dwarves scampered up into the trees at the edge of the clearing, taking their respective trees and climbing as high as the trees' limbs would hold them. Estel limped to a larch after Fili and Kili, seeing that the other trees looked rather full. He thought himself very fortunate to be tall for his age, taller than Bilbo- _Bilbo!_ He had forgotten about the hobbit. As he made his way towards the top of the tree after the two Dwarf brothers, he looked back towards the ground. The Dwarves' burglar, or so they called him, was scurrying around frantically, looking around for a tree that he could climb. But there appeared to be none.

Estel could hear whispering voices coming from a nearby tree. It sounded to be a sort of argument, and he wondered if Thorin and the others were arguing about Bilbo again. Even though he didn't know Bilbo well, he seemed to be nice enough, and in a way, the two were alike. They both had, in their own ways, set out on a strange journey, encountering many fearful things that they were not prepared for. Estel felt sympathy for him.

Luckily, he saw the Dwarf that he knew to be Dori climbing down his tree, holding out a hand to Bilbo. The growls and howls of the Wargs were nearing by the moment. After Bilbo climbed onto Dori's back and was lifted into the branches, the two climbed back up the tree- at the perfect time. The quiet clearing was suddenly flooded with a host of Wargs, their eyes glittering in the moonlight like a malevolent collection of jewels. Their howls induced even more fear at this close proximity.

Wargs stood at feet of all the occupied trees, and Estel found himself looking down against his own will, in the same way that a warrior cannot tear his eyes away from the bloody death of a comrade. Perhaps it was less desperate and dramatic as that, but it felt a thousand times worse to Estel, who had yet to experience those horrors. As he peered down anxiously, he noticed that a gray Warg stood in the middle of the group, and spoke in the language of the Wargs. Estel himself was learned in Elven-languages and Westron both, but he had no desire to learn this wolf-speak.

Estel searched the trees for Mithrandir, but could not see him in the dark. Suddenly, however, a flickering blue light arose in a taller evergreen, and the oddly colorful fire was thrown down into the ring of Wargs. The fire caught on the fur of a wolf. Then another fiery object -perhaps a pine cone- was hurled down, and Estel realized what was happening. Only Mithrandir could have done something like that. He smiled as the Wargs howled in fury and pain, snapping their powerful jaws up at the Company to no avail.

The land below was a patchwork quilt of flames and yelping Wargs. Estel heard a cheer start up in Thorin's tree, and as Mithrandir threw down more of the unnatural fire, he joined in. "Burn them! Burn them!" Estel yelled as loud as he could, chanting the phrase over and over. He heard a chuckle from Kili (or was it Fili?), and the two Dwarves in his own tree started their own cheers. "Burn!" he shouted, as the Warg guards beneath his tree growled curses in their tongue. "Burn, burn, burn!"

All of a sudden, Estel glimpsed dark figures at the edge of the clearing. Goblins! They were rather surprised to see the raging fire, and to see the Wargs in their fury. He saw the wolves gathering, and the goblins collecting what looked to be fire-fuel, and realized what was going on. _Fire!_ he thought. _Fire!_ "I wanted the wolves to burn, not the Company!" he said shakily, staring down at the fires building beneath his tree. Mithrandir's marvelous device would backfire upon him and the rest of them._  
_

He heard a sigh from above him, and saw Fili's face. "It is your Company now also, I suppose," the Dwarf said, though it did not sound openly grudging. "We will have to fight for each others' lives on this journey, if things go as we expect." Estel would have felt grateful for these words despite their pessimism, if not for the muttered remark that came after: "Though if the situation were better, I would be fighting for only the Company that set out from the Shire!"

Without comment, Estel watched the scene below with mounting terror, as warmth filled the air and smoke rose and stung his eyes. The goblins, with the Wargs at their rear, began a sort of dance that would have better suited a band of merrymakers than a host of foul creatures. They began to sing -if you could call their disgusting voices anything close to singing. "Sixteen birds in five firtrees, their feathers were fanned in a fiery breeze!" Estel heard them call, then tried his best not to listen to the words.

Then they paused, shouting for the Company to sing. What with all of the comparisons to birds, Estel supposed that 'singing' was the equivalent to screaming. If so, then he was very near to singing a song of terror. Unlike a bird, he had no wings to fly away upon, and he could not escape the fire.

Mithrandir gave a shout to the goblins from his tree, but they chose not to heed him and started up with another rousing chorus of their song. Estel, hearing words about burning bodies lighting the night and blackening bones, trembled in fear. _Oh, why was I so foolish to set out from Rivendell?_ he thought. _I should never have followed a reckless fantasy like that! I must have been mad! And now I might never see my home again!_ The thought made him shudder, and he suppressed a cry of fear.

But to his shock, a large eagle came diving down out of the sky into the smoke, and lifted Mithrandir out of the fiery nightmare-glade. As the Dwarves scampered up the trees, as the goblins shouted in anger and threw their spears to the sky, Estel suddenly found himself high in the air, raised out of the fire by another eagle.

In the dark gloom below, he saw the clearing burning like a torch: a torch that he had nearly fueled with his own body.


End file.
